Billy
The stranger who'd just come in and fucked us both, on our hands and knees on this same bed, had dressed and left. Billy and I remained naked. I put my around his wide, curved back and gave him a reassuring sideways hug.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Oh...," all that Billy could initially get out, as if a sigh. "He liked you better'n me," he finally explained.
"No he didn't," I said.
"He fucked you a lot longer," Billy reminded me, as if I needed reminding, his head rising.
"I don't think so."
"Yes he did. Plus he came in you."
This I couldn't deny, the stranger's load now tightly sealed deep inside me. "So?"
"And he said I love your skinny ass. He doesn't like fatties."
"That's not true. He fucked us both didn't he?"
"He did but he fucked you for a lot longer," Billy repeated. I rolled my eyes as Billy went on, seemingly close to tears: "I've been running these ads...offering my ass in the air to all takers...for months and months and months now. Then you come along and...steal the show."
I wiggled my just-used ass a little, as if to sink deeper into the mattress. "You told me that before I came along you hadn't had, in all these months, a single fucking taker."
"Oh, so you should get all the credit," Billy said resentfully.
"No. I didn't say that. All I'm sayin' is, I offered my own ass as well, two for the price of one so to speak, and right off the bat, first Friday night together, we get a taker rather than a faker, like you've been complaining about."
I added: "Did you get fucked tonight or didn't you?"
Billy nodded. But then said: "I don't consider it a proper fucking 'less the guy cums in me."
"Well he can't cum in both of us."
"No, but I'm the one run the ads. It's my apartment. My bed. My...big ass."
"So the next guy may prefer a fat ass," I reasoned. "No offense."
Billy sighed. Had I been a shrink I might have recommended anti-depressants at this point.
"Why don't you check your laptop," I recommended, "go see if anybody else is comin' over?"
Billy, with sighing reluctance, slid on bed's foot and went into his livingroom. I watched as a lamp brightened the darkness. I also watched, through the bedroom doorway, as he padded over to his kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, without offering me one.
I knew that if this nascent partnership was going to work, we had to offer customers two bottoms, a thin and a fat one, a Laurel and Hardy so to speak, the sexual thrill-ride of penetrating two asses rather than just one, moving between them, back and forth, while offering the option of releasing one's load in one or the other of us, whether out of necessity, or choice.
"You're tighter than fatty over here," tonight's customer had said just minutes earlier. "But not too tight."
I smiled at this semi-compliment, while remaining silent, even then realizing it would be best not to hurt my fellow bottom's feelings, rub it in. He was, after all, kneeling like me only inches away, to my right. I moaned is all, involuntarily, with each hard thrust.
Now a hydrated Billy returned, his limp, stumpy penis barely visible beneath the overhang of a layer of fat. I decided to take a new tack.
"Look at it this way," I smiled, "we made forty dollars. Twenty each."
Billy hissed through his teeth. "Twenty for a fuck. Forty I could live with. But," looking pointedly at me, "now I have a partner."
"It's all the market'll bear, Billy. Men are cheapskates."
"Yeah but by myself I could be making forty..."
"Yeah and how has that worked out so far?" I shot back.
Billy shrugged boulder-like shoulders, soft boulders, as he took a seat next to me again. He'd told me in his own words, more than once: "Nobody ever comes over. They're all a bunch of fakers."
"It's a Catch-22," I further suggested, as Billy looked up from his flattened, tree trunk-like thighs. "You could make forty if anybody ever came over, but nobody ever does. So, with me, guys come over but you're only making twenty."
"One guy has come over," Billy said bitterly.
"It's better'n nothing."
"Makes me feel cheap."
"Well..."
After a pause I asked: "So anymore replies to your ad or what?"
Billy's ad now featured two pics: his very plump ass in the air and now my relatively skinny one. Hardy and Laurel. We'd talked about snapping a shot of both of us in his bed but hadn't done that yet. The amended ad read: "Come fuck two asses for the "price" of one. Doors [sic] open. Just walk right in and get it on. If this ad is up we're available." The text was followed by four rose icons. Ten dollars per, though this wasn't mentioned in the ad, for obvious legal reasons.
Since I'd joined up with Billy, at my suggestion and repeated urgings (Billy was nothing if not stubborn), he'd seen a definite uptick in responses. Of course the first question for most was "how much?" Billy never mentioned money—cash. He spoke strictly in the euphemistic language of "roses." This immediately drove a lot of respondents—cheapskates—off. While the bulk of the remainder a) weren't actually serious, or b) eventually lost their nerve. This left a tiny minority who actually discussed coming over to Billy's apartment. Where do you live? What part of town? When you available?
I can be there at seven.
We'll be here.
I'll call when I'm on the way.
At which point the waiting game began. Would he show? Or, seemingly like everyone, would he get cold feet at the last minute? Was he a mere faker?
Tonight, for once, at long last, there'd been a knock at the door. Lucky 7:11 by the bedside digital clock.
"Come in!" Billy had shouted, as we scrambled to get in receiving position, hips bumping, side by side.
"There's a guy says he'll be here at nine," Billy replied, after the pause.
I looked at the clock. It was only a quarter to eight.
"Well, we have lots of time to kill."
Billy sighed. "If he ever shows..."
"Two in one night would be cool," I suggested.
"Yeah," Billy snorted, doubtfully.
"Try to be optimistic," I urged my fellow bottom. "Tonight was kind of a break through."
"Yeah," Billy agreed, with a hint of a laugh. "He broke through my hole."
"That's what you wanted, right?" I said, giving Billy's broad curve of a back a reassuring pat.
"I guess. I wanted forty bucks, but..."
"And if the second guy comes over you'll get it," I reminded him. Forty "roses" would probably get him a month's worth of anti-depressants, out of pocket, I speculated.
It was Billy's turn to glance around at the bedside clock. "Damn, what are we gonna do for an hour-plus?"
"You got anything to drink?" I asked brightly. "Let's get drunk!"
"Blow our money?"
"Blow the next guy!"
"I don't keep booze in the house," Billy informed me.
"Well, I passed a convenience store on the way here. I could be there and back fifteen minutes tops. Split the cost?"
"I don't drink much."
"Fine," I conceded, with a note of disgust. "I'll go get a twelve-pack or something."
"Well don't take too long. He'll be here at nine he told me."
It was the first semi-optimistic thing Billy had said all evening. "Billy, relax. I'll be back by eight."
I was already on my feet, hunting down my discarded panties. Heading for the chair the rest of my clothes were draped over.
"Be back in a minute," I informed the bloated pale whale of a naked man sitting with bowed head on bed's foot.
"What's up with him?" our second man of the night asked. He was still fully dressed. I had greeted him naked, awkwardly, just past bedroom's doorway, in livingroom's relative darkness. Now I'd given way and he was peering past me, after giving my bottom a squeeze.
"I don't know," I claimed. "He had, like, one beer and the next thing I knew he was out. Guess he can't hold his liquor."
"Can't you wake him?" the guy asked, still studying the big blob of pale flesh pulled up into fetal position on one sunken half of the bed.
"I tried," I explained, "when I heard your knock. But..."
"Well this is bullshit. False advertising. I paid for two fucks."
You haven't paid for ANYTHING yet, dude, I thought. The man looked my slender body up and down.
"You're OK but...what I really wanted was to fuck that big fat ass of his I saw on his ad."
Poor Billy.
"Well...you want to try waking him?"
The guy frowned—as if at a bad smell. "Fuck no! He's snoring!"
"We could do it out here," I suggested, vaguely indicating Billy's livingroom couch. "We could close the door," I went on to say, hoping it would mute Billy's megaphone-like snores. "I'll get the lube and..."
After considering things a minute the guy said, "Well I'm not paying forty for a single fuck."
"No," I hastened to agree.
"You suck cock?"
"Of course," I eagerly smiled.
"OK. You suck me, get me hard...I was hard on the way over, but...," glancing at the open doorway, and the sleeping white whale beyond. "Then I'll fuck you."
"I'll get the lube," I again offered eagerly.
"Close the fucking door," the man said, as he began to undress.
"Will do."
Possibly owing to all the excitement, the anticipation, I was getting hard myself, my erection bobbing in midair as I hurried to bedroom and back and dropped to my knees in front of my—our—now naked guest.
After he fucked me on the couch, all too briefly, and added his load to that of our previous client's, I collected the additional twenty, and the remains of my twelve-pack, looked in a last time on the unconscious Billy, and left, locking the apartment door behind me. When I got home I sent my dubious partner in crime an email:
"Billy—
"You missed out, dude! The second guy came over, you were dead to the world, out of it. He fucked me and left. Too bad cause [sic] what he really wanted, he said, was your big sweet ass. Maybe next week??? You had one two [sic] many beers, [in] case you don't remember, and fell over. I managed to get you back in bed. Sorry.
"How's your head?"
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